‘Careful, Grace.’
‘Hey, all I’m saying is that it’s no wonder women would rather line up for a date with him than for the Boxing Day sales at Harrods.’ His body was God’s ultimate gift to women.
As she crossed the road, Daniel warned, ‘Women. Plural. As much as I admire him, you know he’s renowned for the long procession of women who share his bed for a single night, don’t you? He’s not the sort to commit to one woman.’
‘Daniel, I can think the guy is drop-dead gorgeous without envisaging hearts and flowers.’ She looked down at her clean-enough but very baggy overalls. She was so far removed from the sleek, designer-label-clad beauties Jack was pictured with that to think she’d capture his interest was laughable in the extreme. ‘But, I wanted to let you know he came home early, caught me playing his piano and gave me permission to keep using it!’
‘Told you he was a good guy. Next time, get his autograph for me, will you?’
‘I doubt I’ll see him again.’
‘Got to go into a lecture now. I’ll talk to you soon.’
‘Okay.’ She sighed as she went through the turnstile and made her way to the platform to wait for her train.
The CEO of one of Britain’s most successful blue-chip companies wouldn’t give her a second thought but she’d be thinking of him. Jack Mancini was surely every woman’s ultimate fantasy lover.
Oh dear! Did such thinking make her horribly amoral?
She scrunched up her nose and admitted she’d join the queue immediately if she had a chance. Why wouldn’t she?
It was a futile thought but at least she was more able to indulge in the Jack Mancini fantasy than most women. Every time she cleaned his Belgravia mansion from top to bottom she’d continue to feel his masculine presence and inhale extra deeply to see if she could catch the lingering scent of his divine, and no doubt very expensive, cologne. And—the most embarrassing thing of all—she’d probably still give the slightly damp towels in his bathroom a little hug as she gathered them up and feel envious they’d been next to his athlete’s body.
Crazily and unrealistically romantic? Definitely. But, it was all harmless and a girl could dream, couldn’t she?
Chapter 5
Jack poured all his attention into answering his emails as his chauffeur drove him to work the following Monday. Work was a welcome distraction considering the closer he got to the office, the more the streets were lined with Christmas decorations. The guy he’d run into on the street on Friday had obviously been very busy over the weekend.
At least there’d be no Christmas decorations at Mancini IT this early. It was his decree that the building was not decked out with boughs of holly or any other Christmas finery until the first day of December. Every other year he’d flown out of the country on the last day of November, conveniently being absent for the annual office Christmas party.
What the hell was he going to do this year?
He’d be expected to attend—be expected to hand out the small gifts and bonus cheques to each employee rather than delegating his right-hand man to do so on his behalf. He’d be expected to … No. There was no way he was going to put on a Santa suit. Absolutely not.
Shit, Shit. Shit.
The elevator doors opened and he realised he’d arrived at the top floor executive suites without even being aware of getting into the lift.
First item on the agenda this morning was to ask Susan, his assistant, to cancel his travel plans for Japan. He should’ve done it when he got back to the office last week, but it’d taken him the entire weekend to accept that the trip was off.
‘Good morning, Jack.’ Susan’s greeting was bubblier than usual and she looked at him expectantly as she said, ‘Did you have a fabulous weekend?’
He tilted his head a little wondering what he was missing. ‘Not overly.’
‘Oh, come on, Jack! The cat’s out of the bag!’
When he looked blankly at her, she clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. ‘Imogen Clarke has already phoned three times in the last twenty minutes,’ she said with some exasperation. ‘Not two minutes ago she told me she needs to discuss some details about the engagement party.’
Jack stifled a curse.
‘Congratulations! I’m so happy for you.’
A strong profanity formed on his lips and he only just managed to keep the word from exploding into the office space.
‘My father has become engaged over the weekend, Susan. Imogen is his fiancée’s daughter.’
‘But …’ Crinkled lines appeared on his assistant’s forehead. ‘The way she spoke, I thought—’
‘I am not engaged to Imogen Clarke.’ No. Bloody. Way.
Susan’s shoulders rounded a little. ‘I’m sorry. I guess I jumped to conclusions.’
Jack was under no illusions as to how those conclusions would’ve been formed. He would bet his last dollar Imogene had made it sound exactly as though the engagement party was a celebration of an upcoming marriage between him and her.
Trouble-making witch.
‘Get her on the phone for me, will you?’
‘Er … Of course.’
‘And then I need you to call the travel agent and cancel my trip to Japan.’
‘Oh. Where are you going instead?’
‘Nowhere.’
Susan looked as though he’d told her the office building had been overrun by aliens. ‘You’ll be in London for Christmas?’
‘Yes,’ he confirmed grudgingly.
Never mind the Christmas lights, Susan’s beaming smile would’ve lit Oxford Street. ‘The staff will be so thrilled to have you at the party this year. It’ll be a first!’
First and last, he hoped.
‘Now you’ll finally get to attend the best office party in London!’
Not if I can come up with any possible way of getting out of it.
After making a non-committal sound, Jack walked through to his office and closed the door firmly behind him.
His gut felt as though it’d been tied into knots. What he needed was to sit back and relax and listen to Grace’s music.
Grace.
He’d thought about her over the weekend and now, even though he was at his work place, he was unable to dismiss her completely from his thoughts. It had to stop. No woman had ever occupied so much of his mental space.
What he needed to do was think about how he was about to deal with Imogen—the one-night-stand turned stalker.
It was time to set Imogene straight.
Vanessa and Amadeo had decided to have a small celebration this coming Friday evening before Vanessa’s elder daughter and her husband went abroad for a few weeks’ holiday. From what they’d told him over the weekend, they wanted to celebrate with their closest friends and family. It meant he’d be thrust into Imogene’s company again far sooner than at Christmas dinner, but as far as he knew he wasn’t expected to plan the event with her.
Why hadn’t he realised Imogen was trouble when he’d first met her?
Because she was in the same mould as every other woman you’ve taken to bed.
It was true. Imogene was always perfectly groomed, her hair immaculately styled, her figure a perfect ten and it seemed highly likely her complexion would be flawless under the layers of make-up she applied.
She was styled in exactly the same way as all his lovers. They were all cool society beauties who only melted when he took them to bed. Outside the bedroom, ice ran through their veins and none of them would ever come close to warming his heart.
His lovers had none of the warmth that Grace exuded in bucket loads.
There she was again.
Damn but he had to stop thinking about the beautiful cleaner in the baggy overalls!
‘Imogene Clark on line one, sir,’ Susan’s voice announced through the intercom.
Irritation pricked across his shoulders as he picked up the receiver. How many people now thought he and Imogene were engaged? Short of taking out a full page advertiseme
nt in The Times to disabuse everyone of the notion, he needed to stamp the gossip out right at the root.
Cutting straight to the point he told Vanessa’s daughter, ‘Stop intimating you and I are engaged.’
‘Hello to you too, Jack, and I don’t know how they’d get that idea.’
‘Cut the crap, Imogene.’
‘It could be true. We could become engaged, Jack.’
‘Not a snowflake’s chance in hell.’
‘We were good together,’ she crooned. ‘You know your father would love to see you engaged.’
‘Consider this your first and last warning, Imogene.’
He disconnected the call. The woman was intolerable and he could imagine how Friday night would play out. Imogene would try to sidle up to him and plaster herself at his side at every opportunity. He should take a woman with him to keep her at bay, but an intimate family function wasn’t the place to take a date.
Imogene was so bold, he knew she was unlikely to heed his warning. He’d probably have to bear her unwanted attentions rather than make a scene and spoil the night for Amadeo and Vanessa. The night was going to be so fraught with tension, what he really needed was …
Grace!
If Grace went with him to the party as the pianist, her music would provide the perfect antidote to the aggravation of being in close proximity to Imogene.
Maybe he could even suggest she pretend to be his lover?
What an elaborate lie! his conscience goaded.
The bald truth was that while Grace’s music was a balm to raw nerves, it wasn’t so much her music he wanted but a chance to see her again.
Her image at the piano kept appearing in his mind’s eye.
The emotion playing on her face had captivated him—warmed him and called to him as strongly as the pull of any siren’s song. When he’d gone to bed, he’d wondered whether the passionate intensity of her piano performance would translate to the bedroom. And, although lust punched through him the last three nights when he’d tried to sleep, it was the flash of impish light in her eyes when she’d announced that she owned the cleaning business that he kept picturing.
Every instinct he possessed told him she was special—a genuinely warm woman with whom he had no right to entertain himself.
She was forbidden fruit.
But the mystery of Grace also intrigued him. It made no sense for someone who played the piano as well as she did to be cleaning houses for a living. She should be playing professionally.
God damn it! Why hadn’t it occurred to him sooner?
Playing at Amadeo’s engagement party could be the perfect opportunity for her to start a professional career—to get bookings from the guests which would undoubtedly lead to more bookings.
Asking her to pretend to be his lover would be ridiculously bold when they’d only met once. Besides, he suspected it would be impossible for him to pretend to be her lover without making it a reality. But, asking her to come to the evening as the pianist would surely be a win-win situation?
He put his pen down decisively and pushed aside the pile of papers he was supposed to be reading through.
He’d ask Grace to perform and he’d draw calm from her music.
A quick check of his wristwatch revealed she would now have arrived at his home and she’d be there for another couple of hours.
A couple of hours be damned. He was going now.
He got up from his desk, realising just how many times he’d damned everything recently. His world seemed to have descended into chaos ever since last Friday. The image of the man he’d cannoned into last week sprang to mind.
Things happen for a reason, the man had said.
Damn the guy’s blasted cheery Christmas spirit and ridiculous sense of fate.
Things happened because Jack made them happen and right now he was going to make sure Grace played at his father’s engagement party.
Chapter 6
‘Oh!’ Grace exclaimed. ‘You scared me!’
What rotten luck to be down on her hands and knees scrubbing at his bathroom floor. She must present an awful picture in her practical cleaning overalls and with her hands clad in thick rubber gloves. It was hardly a look inspired to impress this drop-dead gorgeous guy.
Oh, get a reality check, Grace. You’re his cleaning lady, not his lover.
She dropped the scrubbing brush back into the bucket of hot, soapy suds and got to her feet, lifting one hand up to her face as she did so to push away a loose strand of hair.
‘Hello, Grace.’ The corners of his mouth twitched as he regarded her, as if …
Her gaze flew to the mirror and she saw she’d left a large patch of bubbles on one cheek when she’d pushed her hair back. Seeing her gloves were still covered in soap suds, she took them off and wiped the bubbles away before she died of embarrassment.
‘Hello. Um. You’re home early again, Mr Mancini.’
‘Deliberately. I came home to talk to you about your music.’
She stared at him uncertainly.
It was an effort to comprehend anything while faced with all six feet five inches of irresistibly gorgeous male who exuded way too much power and confidence. Moreover, he looked entirely out of place in his ensuite dressed for the office. Bare chested and in a towel would be far better.
Oh Lord! Heat flamed through her like an out-of-control bushfire and she blinked away the image. ‘Have you changed your mind about letting me use the piano?’
‘Of course not.’ The laugh accompanying his words told her the very thought was ridiculous. ‘I want to talk about your talent. Let’s go downstairs and have a coffee while we chat.’
He thought she had talent?
He wanted to have a coffee with her?
Curiosity and uncertainty ate into her and she almost pinched herself to see if she was dreaming. This was the stuff of her dreams. Well, maybe not quite. Her dreams of Jack Mancini would involve him asking her to join him in the bedroom, not downstairs in the kitchen. Still …
Following him out of the generously-sized bathroom that’d seemed to shrink to the size of a toilet cubicle the moment he entered, she couldn’t help but notice how well he moved. Even though he no longer played rugby, it was clear Jack was still supremely fit. Every time she came to clean she saw something out of place in his gym or by his indoor lap pool indicating he worked out regularly.
The cut of his suit jacket emphasised the width of his shoulders and she nearly lost her footing on the stairs as she imagined how muscular he’d be underneath the expensive fabric. There’d been pictures of him on the internet in his rugby shorts so she knew, without any doubt, that his thighs and legs were powerfully developed. And the gape in his shirt the other day had exposed …
She almost bumped into him as he turned at the bottom of the stairs and asked her how she took her coffee. His arms shot out to steady her and for a few seconds all she could do was look up into his eyes and their mesmerising shade of grey-blue and think how much she wanted to be kissed by him.
‘Er … milk and one sugar, thank you. I’m a bit of a sweet tooth.’
‘I like your perfume,’ he told her. ‘You smell like lemons.’
Oh Geez! Grace couldn’t suppress a mortified giggle. ‘It’s not actually perfume.’ She bit down on her lower lip and tried to contain her humour. ‘I actually spilt some of the shower cleaning cream on my overalls.’
His laugh was deep and attractive and it made her stomach somersault. ‘Well, it smells a lot nicer than some of the more expensive perfumes I’ve inhaled.’
She grinned. ‘Maybe I should water some down, put it in a shapely bottle and make my fortune selling it?’
‘You might be onto something.’ He winked at her. ‘I might buy into your company.’
Oh gosh, he’s nice, Grace thought. And, he has a sense of humour.
He made a little small talk while he made her a coffee, and even though sexual longing pounded through her every time she looked at him, Grace felt quite at ease
conversationally as he beckoned for her to sit opposite him at the kitchen table.
It wasn’t lost on her that she was in her oversized cleaning overalls about to have coffee with a billionaire who wore one of his first-class bespoke suits from the Savile Row tailors she knew he used. The suit was worth more than she earned in a couple of months. But, sitting opposite him at the kitchen table, the disparity in their incomes didn’t matter.
‘I didn’t recognise the piece you were playing when I interrupted you on Friday, but I liked it very much.’ He handed her the coffee.
Their fingers brushed and she was instantly aware of the wave of warmth that shot up her arm from the contact. Trying to distract herself from her attraction to him she summoned up all her enthusiasm for her music.
‘It’s one of my favourites.’ She took a sip of the coffee before she asked, ‘Have you heard of Nobuyuki Tsujii?’
‘I can’t say I have.’
‘He’s a world-renowned Japanese pianist who composed the piece you heard. He’s an incredible talent and all the more amazing because he’s blind.’
‘Completely blind?’
She nodded energetically, warming to her subject. ‘He’s been blind since birth. He plays all manner of masterpieces, learning by listening to someone play and copying them.’
‘He’s a gifted man, then. It was very evocative.’
‘I get so caught up in it, I wasn’t even aware you’d come home. The piece was his tribute to the 2011 victims of the Japanese tsunami and earthquake.’
He raised an eyebrow and smiled. ‘Do I detect a bit of hero-worship in your voice?’
‘Absolutely. He’s my musical idol.’ When she’d first become aware of his amazing talent, he’d been her inspiration. Who could fail to be motivated by him? He was a man who’d overcome his lack of vision and reached a performance standard that was equal to or better than any pianist with full vision. ‘I found his performance of the piece on YouTube and as soon as I heard it I knew I had to learn it. Even he was moved to tears as he played.’
Jack leant back in his chair and cradled his coffee cup in his right hand. ‘I noticed you weren’t using sheet music.’
The Magic of Christmas Page 3
